


one tug (and it's loose) man

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [13]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Chopsticks, Multi, a very Definite meaning of fwiendship, cut-off panic attack, some cuddles, talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 11:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: He is like a ribbon.(A ribbon holding chopsticks, maybe.)





	one tug (and it's loose) man

The reconstruction effort has been going… well. To be honest, Ikael has not been playing too heavy a hand in it—he might later, but his attentions have been focused on more personal financial matters as of late. As such, he has not been spending too much time overseas.

But the Doman Enclave is looking well. Ikael might even personally help out eventually, although by the looks of things, the other doer-wells have been running around and helping it come along quite steadily. Ikael waves at Kozakura with a friendly smile when he passes by her, and she returns the gesture with a giggle.

 He starts to ask around for what he is looking for: a pair of simple wooden chopsticks he had left over by accident, tied with a red string. The Domans, however—for better or for worse—seem to actually recognize him in his casualwear (unlike most Eorzeans) and react vocally to his presence. And so, despite his protests and hurried reassurances, it is not long before he is being ushered forth past the sliding door to the main dwelling, where “Lord Hien has no doubt been awaiting your presence, my lord.”

Ikael surely hopes Hien has not been awaiting him—that would be a bit creepy, even for what Ikael is used to. Thankfully, Hien looks quite surprised when Ikael randomly stumbles in, a pair of chopsticks that are—nope, not Ikael’s—held halfway to his mouth. A thin noodle falls, no doubt not having expected its short trip to be abruptly halted.

“Hien,” Ikael greets, somewhat flustered. “I… uh… just came to look for my chopsticks.”

There is a moment wherein Hien simply blinks at him, lowering his own chopsticks—he looks pretty, Ikael thinks—before his face creases into a warm laugh. Ikael huffs through his own smile, tail flicking upwards as ease settles between them.

“Come, come!” Hien beckons him forward. “Sit with me! Shall I call for someone to fetch you a bowl?”

Ikael giggles before going over, sitting down across from him. “It is not quite dinnertime yet in Eorzea,” he says. “I am not hungry. But thank you!” He smiles, wiggling his ears.

Hien chuckles. “Keep me company for a while, then, if you do not mind. Unless your chopsticks truly cannot wait.”

Ikael giggles again, squirming downwards until he is comfortably settled on his stomach, and kicks his legs up to watch Hien eat.

After a few minutes of this, he notices Hien pause in his eating to give him… almost an odd look, before shaking his head with a small smile. He taps his chopsticks together before moving to take his next bite.

Ikael cocks his head. “What?”

“Hm?” Hien glances up, slurping a noodle. Ikael presses his head into his hands, crossing his ankles.

“You were just thinking something. About me? Were you thinking about me?” Ikael’s tail begins to thump from side to side. “What were you thinking?”

Hien looks surprised for a moment before he chuckles a little, finishing his bite.

“You just seem… different, is all,” he explains. “More at ease. I remember the stoic, quiet warrior with whom I ventured across the Steppes, and now you seem… so far removed from it. And yet, I can tell you are the same person. It is akin to cracking open an oyster and finding a pearl, I suppose.”

His voice grows more thoughtful as he continues to speak, and when he stops, he stares off into the distance for a moment before smiling again and continuing to eat. Ikael watches him closely, not moving much at all.

Then he snorts, rocking a little and blowing out a _pbthbhbhbh_ noise. Hien arches an eyebrow in amusement, but makes no further comment for the moment, instead choosing to finish his meal.

By the time he finally puts his bowl on the ground, setting chopsticks down neatly beside it, Ikael has gone through a few poses of his usual stretching routine. He pauses now, blinking serenely at Hien from between his ankles.

 “You are quite flexible, my friend,” Hien comments. Ikael has to bite his lip to stop himself from making a crude comment about flexibility, and oysters, and the ease of finding pearls. “Perhaps the shinobi may have some use of your martial skill yet; your fighting styles may not match, but there are some skills that are useful in any profession.”

The corner of Ikael’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly, but he nods. “I will have to keep that in mind and pay a visit, one of these days! No doubt I still have much to learn, regardless.”

(The subject has shifted now—ah well. It would have been a rubbish line, anyways.)

Hien laughs, low in his chest. “Learn, perhaps, but not refine. I doubt there is a single shinobi here who could best you in combat. They place your prowess on a bit of a pedestal, you know. And rightly so, if I may say so! Not to mention, they all seem to train just that bit harder after you leave. Useful.”

And now he is speaking of… prowess, and fighting, and pedestals. Not… unusual, Ikael supposes, swallowing his strange feeling of resignation. He unfolds himself, rolling his shoulders in more of a quick, efficient movement than a languid one.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, placidly placing his wrists on his knees as he crosses his legs. “I… am glad I am upholding a standard, I suppose. To tell the truth, Yugiri’s advice a few moons ago actually proved… well—less than fruitful in practice, I’ll admit, but—an interesting concept if executed correctly. I am certain there is something for me to ‘refine,’ regardless.”

Hien regards him with a look in his eye that Ikael cannot quite interpret. He chooses not to, letting his gaze idly flit away in the moment before Hien speaks. He feels disappointed, vaguely—a small pulse in his chest that he is far too used to by now. He brushes it off without much thought.

“There it is again,” Hien murmurs, and Ikael’s eyes flick up at his tone. “I have lost you. Mine apologies for whatever it is that I said.”

Ikael blinks, before giving him a small smile and a shrug. “You have not. I was simply phasing out for a moment—mine apologies! I… well, I tend to do that when things start happening, if I am being honest.” He gives a little chuckle. “Although do not tell that to Alphinaud! I doubt he will lecture me for not paying attention, but he might look… sad about it.”

Hien chuckles as well, deep in his throat. “I _thought_ I’d noticed you looking a bit blank whenever the recent talks about the peace treaty came up. Do not worry; Master Alphinaud shall know nothing. Although I can make no promises about Yugiri.”

Ikael grins at the mention of Yugiri, unconsciously genuine for a moment. His last conversation with her had not involved how many blindfolds to tie around his head, but had rather contained a cripplingly dry observation about his taste in fashion, along with a muttered comment about the colour yellow and (although Ikael truly had to strain his ears to hear this part) Lord Hien.

“You are a charming fellow, Ikael.” Hien speaks up again, and when Ikael looks at him, he has that strange sharpness to his gaze once more. “And charm, however good at deflecting questions, speaks only around your truth.”

Ikael lowers his eyelids, feeling a surprised jolt in his chest as Hien leans back. He is… observant, but no more than Ikael gives him credit for. His directness is what momentarily jars Ikael; he will admit that he had not expected that from Hien. But they are alone together, Ikael supposes. That in itself is a rare enough event. So perhaps they can be… different. Ikael… does not know.

“You are under no obligation to speak to me in any way in which you do not feel comfortable, of course,” Hien declares, beginning to move around. The resumption of motion startles Ikael out of the moment, and it is only then that he realizes that they have been sitting very, very still for the past couple of minutes. He watches as Hien gets up, collecting his dishes and stacking them together neatly.

“I prefer to do this myself, honestly, rather than waiting on someone. I suppose I am far too accustomed to it,” Hien comments as he gets everything in order. “Ah—I will be back in but a moment, Ikael.”

Ikael watches as Hien begins to leave the room… before pausing to look back.

“I would be honoured to gain your friendship, if you find me so worthy,” he says, and Ikael can detect no sarcasm or astringency to his words, only pure honesty. “If not... I am grateful that we have come this far.”

And he has left the room. Ikael glances down, tugs at a tie on his shirt. He feels… somewhat guilty. He is reminded, starkly, of Aymeric, the night of their dinner. The situation is much the same, but where Hien has said the words, Aymeric had not commented on it, the soft surprise in his eyes the only fleeting indication of his thoughts.

That is… much in the past now, Ikael thinks, a familiar prick of regret blossoming in his chest. He has not travelled much to Ishgard since Myste, but perhaps he should… visit the Lord Commander, when he has a chance. Mayhaps they can—mayhaps they can talk.

He is pulled out of his increasingly remorseful musings when Hien returns, walking in the quietly confident way that had stuck out to Ikael when they had first met. It speaks of everything, Ikael thinks. One can tell a lot of a person from their stride.

“So, your chopsticks, you say?” Hien asks grandly, beginning to smile the warm, charismatic smile of a prince. He stops when he sees Ikael's expression. “What is it?”

Ikael feels a thick pang of loneliness. He exhales softly—the smallest movement of his chest—before getting up as well.

“I think I left them in the markets somewhere,” he says. He tucks back his tears to shed later; Twelve know it wouldn’t be the first nor the last time. “Ah… I am guessing near the food stalls.”

He quirks a smile that crinkles his eyes, hoping to even out the astuteness in Hien’s gaze. He does not watch to see if it works, instead running a hand through his hair and spinning around in a motion that is suitably natural as he heads towards where he had slipped off his sandals.

It is a moment before he hears Hien’s soft but steady tread behind him. Ikael does not look back as he slides out of the building.

He gazes out over the Enclave as he waits for Hien, not quite taking in what he is seeing. Gods only know why the man wishes to help Ikael look for his chopsticks, of all things, but he will not complain. Ikael is not… naïve, nor is he a fool. He knows that Hien—

Is right behind him, apparently, carefully closing the sliding door with a nod to the guard posted nearby. “So! Off to the markets, then,” he says.

His voice is… too intimate. More of a murmur than the sure declarations Ikael is used to from a statement like that. He notes the strange flip in his stomach to dwell on later, and gives a silent nod, beginning to walk away. It is only after he feels Hien’s warm presence follow a few paces behind that it occurs to him that is perhaps a bit rude, leading a Doman king behind him like a pet without a leash.

But Hien does not seem to mind. If anything, he seems oddly cheerful, chatting lightly (if aimlessly) about the reconstruction efforts and the state of his shinobi. Ikael realizes, after a little while of this, that he is carefully not mentioning the recent political disturbances with Asahi, nor the treaty. He is also apparently unbothered by Ikael’s silence, and seems content to carry most of the conversation himself. It feels… false. Not in a deceptive fashion, but as if the words they are truly speaking are… underneath, in a way. Unheard.

After quite some time of fruitless searching, Ikael pauses in front of what appears to be a pottery and cutlery vendor. They have been asking around as they walked, but with no luck so far. Ikael does not like it, not at all, but he supposes that if they do not find his chopsticks, he might simply have to buy another pair.

Hien seems surprised when Ikael stops at this particular shop, although he does not show it save for a minute straightening of his spine. Ikael’s gaze darts around, settling for a moment on a pair of dark wooden chopsticks tied with a blue ribbon. Similar enough in style to his, he supposes…

“Do you wish to simply purchase a new pair?” Hien asks as Ikael tries not to feel miserable. “I must admit; I assumed yours had sentimental value.”

Ikael’s attempt is not succeeding. He is getting sad over a pair of chopsticks, of all things—how pitiful. “Nothing special,” he mutters quietly as his eyes scan the stall. A white pair made of bone here, a dark red one there… “I just… bought them. I liked them. Didn’t have a pair before; they don’t sell them in Eorzea.”

“I see,” Hien replies. Ikael picks up the first pair of chopsticks that had caught his eye, letting out a small sigh. Blue is… nice enough, he supposes. It will do.

He looks up at Hien, then. “I am sorry for having dragged you out here for a wild dodo chase,” he says softly, remembering in time to add a smile. He even manages a chuckle. “It must be frustrating, looking for something of mine for nearly a bell before I decide to simply give up and buy new ones.”

“I hardly think giving up is in your nature,” Hien murmurs, and Ikael’s fingers twitch. Hien’s voice returns to normal. “And do not apologize! It has been fun. Are you sure you do not wish to keep looking?”

Ikael needs to find somewhere where he can sit down and cry a little before returning to the real world. “It is fine,” he replies, sweeping his gaze down. “They are lost. It is no big deal.”

“Hm,” says Hien.

Ikael is just about to fish for his coin purse when he hears the strange, shimmering quality of Echo-translated words. He pauses, surprised.

“May we see the unprocessed stock, please?” Hien is speaking to the vendor, who smiles and bows before gesturing behind themselves.

“Yes, please. Thank you,” Hien says as they disappear into the stall tent.

They come back out with a large container. In it are half a dozen assorted plates, a few glasses, some vases, and—

“My chopsticks!” Ikael gasps, surprised. The vendor cheers a little and holds the container out to him.

“I-I—how much—” Ikael stutters, going for his purse again, but the vendor shakes their head and shakes the container gently, as if urging Ikael to simply take what is his.

He does so, and as he holds his simple bamboo chopsticks in his hands again, he feels a surge of emotion so strong he nearly tears up then and there. He does not, but he does blink rapidly, a little dazed.

When he feels a warm hand on his shoulder he startles, but it is only Hien, smiling warmly at him. Ikael twitches—his instinct is to go for a hug, but… no. He does not do that outside of… He will not do that.

Instead he smiles back, truly meaning it this time. Hien’s hand squeezes his shoulder before sliding down his arm, and then off. Ikael tries not to feel the loss too much, and maybe fails a little.

“I would spend some time with you before you return to your duties, if you do not mind,” Hien requests, and Ikael finds himself nodding absently before he fully processes the invitation. It is habit, at this point. When he registers what Hien has said, his ears perk up somewhat, and he clutches his precious chopsticks to his chest. They were not _as_ precious to him a week ago, but now he feels as if they cannot be less than so.  

He knows Hien most likely wishes to discuss martial artistry or strategy, but Ikael cannot help but hold some hope, however faint, that he simply wishes for Ikael’s company. It is probably not true, he thinks as they walk back inside, Ikael still holding his chopsticks snugly, but it is good to think even just a little positively, sometimes. He will not turn into a _complete_ troglodyte.

Ikael stands there quietly when they get inside, pressing his chopsticks into his palm and stroking along the wood, waiting idly for any instructions or orders. He feels—happy—He cannot express himself right now, of course, beyond the wag of his tail and the silent gratitude in his gaze, but he will perhaps sleep clutching his chopsticks later, to convey to them that he loves them.

He remembers Hien when his ears catch the shifting of cloth, and he looks up with a little jolt, unconsciously cradling his chopsticks close. Hien has that… _look_ on his face again, like Ikael has just accidentally spilled a secret without noticing and Hien is finding it out for the first time. Serious and perceptive and just a little bit… just a little bit something else, something that almost reminds Ikael of Thancred.

Ikael chooses not to keep Hien’s gaze, instead shyly scratching his cheek and staring at his chopsticks again. He curls his tail around his legs, and then—remembers something.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes flicking up again. He forgets, sometimes, if he allows himself to get soft like this. Simple things like manners, or pleasantries, and with no Alphinaud to remind him by example, the words tend to slip Ikael’s mind.

(He misses Alphinaud. He hopes he’s alright. Hopes he’s safe.)

Hien smiles, startlingly warm, and Ikael is thrown off-balance for a moment. He finds his gaze flitting to the fur of Hien’s coat. He wonders what it would feel like were Ikael to hug him.

“It was no trouble at all, rest assured,” Hien murmurs. “In truth, I am glad that I was able to return a true smile to your face once more. If only for a brief second.”

Ikael’s eyes flutter, and he licks his lips, glancing away. Hien is not keen to dance around that, then. Ikael does not quite know what to do, or say—this has never happened before. He hugs his arms, swaying a little. He… okay. Alright, he will… try. He thinks he can.

“Forgive me, this is… new,” he mumbles. He manages to drag his gaze back up, steadily enough. Hien’s, of course, does not waver in the slightest. “I… it is not that I do not have _friends_ , Hien. I-I do. But… not acquired in the way you would think. It… has been years. It took years.”

He looks down again, awkwardly rubbing at his shoulder. Hien moves closer, close enough to touch, and—does, in fact, touch, laying a hand on Ikael’s opposite shoulder.

“It took years for them?” he asks. “Or for you?”

Ikael stares at the wall as he thinks. How long _had_ it taken for trust to develop? For someone to genuinely ask after him for the first time? He… is not quite sure. It seemed to almost be there at first, far back in the beginning, but not in a _true_ sense…

He is broken out of his thoughts by Hien’s soft laughter. Ikael quirks an eyebrow at him curiously, tilting his head.

“You may be the only person I have ever met,” Hien says after his chuckles have died down to a smile, “who has only ever called me ‘Hien.’”

Ikael blinks—first once, and then rapidly. “I-I-I—” he stammers, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—didn't mean to—”

“Relax, my friend.” Hien’s smile has taken on a warm and disarming angle, and Ikael does in fact relax a fraction. “I did not mean to alarm you. I do not mind—truly, it is a welcome change. A relief, even. But it leads me to think that perhaps—if I may be so bold as to assume—this difference you speak of has been there from the start.”

Ikael… pauses. Dwells on this for a moment… or tries to, and then shakes his head, giving up. He does not know what Hien is talking about, and he is no good with words. Instead he shifts his weight, hesitates, then steels himself before wrapping his arms around Hien’s waist, gently squeezing.

“Thank you for helping me find my chopsticks,” he mumbles, turning his nose into the fur. His nostrils flare—he was right. It _is_ soft.

He can feel Hien’s surprise in the stiffness of his torso, the straight line of his spine. Then there is a faint laugh, and Ikael is being hugged back. Hien is… warm, and smells nice, and that pang of loneliness hits Ikael once more, so strongly that he clutches at Hien’s shirt a little.

“Ikael?” Hien inquires, but Ikael is concentrating too much on not letting his breathing hitch and his eyes water to answer. This is—ridiculous—Ikael should break away so he can go hide and cry in a corner, and then come back when he is ready to be someone whom Hien wishes to be friends with. But he cannot, he finds, and the very thought threatens to push him over the edge into tears.

He _still_ has not let go. This—has been a bad idea, despite Hien being so kind, because Ikael is, without a doubt, a _mess_ , and it is best for everyone if he just keeps shoving these things away in a dark spot to drag out and fuss over on his own, later. Because now it is too late. Once Hien realizes how Ikael is getting, he will be uncomfortable and appalled, and he will never see Ikael in the same light again. _Gods_ , it would have been safer to remain detached and “charming.” Why did Ikael give in to this? It was such a stup—

“Ikael!” Hien all but barks, and it is only as Ikael cringes away from the word that he realizes he has been holding on to Hien so tightly he has barely given the man room to breathe. This sudden awareness makes panic rise in Ikael's throat, and he sucks in an audible wheeze before he can stop himself. No—oh— _no_ —this is _humiliating—_

Ikael wrenches away, keeping his face turned down and out of Hien’s line of sight. He barely has enough mind to stumble towards the exit, ignoring Hien’s voice getting rougher and more alarmed as he calls for Ikael to wait.

Ikael swipes his wrist over his eyes before he slides open the door. He must look presentable enough, because the guard outside barely even gives him a second glances as he slips away.

~*~

It is after dark when Ikael finally dares a visit back to the Enclave, a small basket of sweets clutched in one hand. He is a little fearful of Hien’s reaction, truth be told, but he has faced far worse confrontation than this, and he owes Hien an apology.

He is allowed inside with a nod, and enters to find Hien absent from the first room. Of course he isn’t there, Ikael thinks with an inward shake of his head, even as his heart sinks a little in trepidation. It is not late enough for him to be sleeping, but if he is, Ikael will… stay somewhere for the night before coming back at a reasonable hour the next morning.

He passes by a servant after a few minutes of wandering around, and gently asks her where her Lord is. Thankfully, she does not tell him that Hien is not to be disturbed, but instead—strangely—seems almost relieved that Ikael has asked. She directs him to a room near the back, and Ikael thanks her before giving her a sweet and trotting along.

When he reaches the room, its slide is closed. Ikael reaches up a hand to… knock? Should he knock?

He ends up timidly rapping on the wooden lattice, not quite sure of the proper etiquette. He waits for an awkward moment, absently reaching for a sweet, and then slaps his own hand away. No—not for him.

“Enter,” Hien’s voice says, and Ikael does so, glancing in cautiously. As soon as Hien sees him, he rises with a start, crossing the room in a few long strides.

“Ikael!” The skin around Hien’s eyes is tense, and there is a stiffness to the line of his jaw. “Are you—you worried me when you ran off earlier! Are you alright? How are you feeling?”

Ikael makes a small noise, and hoists his basket up in front of him, almost like a shield. It brings Hien up short, and Ikael stares at his abdomen as he breathes, watching it expand and contract barely a fulm away.

“My apologies,” Hien says, sounding calmer, and takes a few steps back before turning to move around a few cushions on the floor. He is not wearing his coat, nor his armour, but is instead clad in a simple black, sleeveless—shirt? Top? It looks Doman—along with similarly-styled pants. He looks… good—Ikael has never seen him in form-fitted clothing like this. He lets himself ogle for maybe a second or two, then shifts his gaze to the ground.

“I… am fine, Hien,” Ikael mumbles, then clears his throat. “I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have run off, as you say. I… did not mean to worry you. I am sorry.”

His tail brushes his calf as it dips down, and Ikael thrusts out his small basket. “I—bought you sweets. To, um… yeah. Say sorry. Which I did, I guess. Just… yeah.”

Hien walks towards him again, gently taking the basket and glancing inside. “Ooh!” he says. “My thanks, Ikael—we do not quite have the resources for luxuries just yet. But you needn’t have! You have nothing to apologize for, my friend.”

Ikael’s mouth twists guiltily, and he toes at the ground. Hien may not have minded, but Ikael still feels bad. He cannot help it, not with the reminder of the evening earlier still poking at his conscience.

“Come, sit down!” Hien says, moving to do so himself. Ikael has no doubt that were he to glance up, Hien’s gaze would be steady as ever. “Let us talk.”

“Firstly,” Hien begins as Ikael fusses with his cushion, cautiously stroking it before slowly sitting, “I owe you an apology as well. I—”

“No, Hien—” Ikael interrupts, flustered, but Hien gives him a firm look, and Ikael goes quiet. He flushes in embarrassment as his gaze flits to the edges of his cushion.

“I should not have pushed you so,” Hien continues. “I never intended to cause you distress; please be certain of this. But I did, and for that I am sorry.”

Ikael draws in a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair, and lets it out in a sigh. He looks back up to Hien again, this time determined to hold his gaze for at least a minute or two.

“You did not, directly,” he says, enunciating enough that he does not mumble. “I… I am a very distressed person, is all. I suppose I… needed the hug more than I thought I did, and when I found myself reacting, my first fear was that I would upset you. And so I… left. I did not think you would be troubled so; I am sorry.”

Hien listens intently as Ikael speaks, his expression attentive, and then nods sagely when he has finished. “It is alright,” he says. “Rest assured, however, that I was not upset at your ‘reacting,’ as you call it. Nor would I be. I meant what I said before; were you to consider me worthy of your trust, I would be honoured.”

Ikael considers this for a minute, picking idly at his nails as he thinks. Finally, he gives a little nod.

“I want to,” he admits, voice a little tight. He draws his knees up. “I-I just—I don’t—I want—I don’t… I…”

“Do you want me to leave?” Hien asks seriously. He looks honest, but Ikael shakes his head. No, he does not want Hien to leave. He… does not know what he wants. His mind is a mess, and he feels as if he might start crying again soon.

His natural instinct to this, of course, is to leave himself, but he does not. Instead, he turns over the thought in his mind, wondering at the variables. After a few scarce seconds of this, he decides that he does not know, and that his head will hurt if he thinks on it for too long.

He starts to shuffle over to Hien, hesitant, and reaches up to timidly tap his arm. Hien does not move, his only action being to watch Ikael intensely.

Ikael taps again, slightly more confident, and Hien shifts. Now he is slightly more turned towards Ikael. Ikael tuts, shaking his head, and goes to carefully hug him as before. Ridiculous man—now Ikael has to do it _himself_ —

Oh. He realizes, as Hien makes a relieved noise and embraces him fully, that that was the whole point. _Oh_ , Ikael thinks, feeling a little dazed and a little exhausted. He lets his eyes slip shut.

“I was scared earlier, I will admit,” Hien rumbles, his voice right next to Ikael’s ear. It flicks. “I know of many a man who has panicked, and run himself dead into danger. I was half certain you would do the same, combat prowess be damned. But of course you are safe. As is Doma, for the moment. Still; it would ease my heart to know what to expect in the future.”

A valid concern, Ikael realizes as he thinks back on the many times he has slipped away these past few weeks. He has popped up to be debriefed, to deal with Asahi, to pat Alphinaud on the head—and then he leaves again, out to take out his frustrations in one way or another. Hien, he realizes slowly, has only ever seen him for a brief minute or two as of late, before Ikael tenses up and leaves.

“Oh, Hien—I am sorry,” he mumbles. “I… have been too focused on other things to notice how I myself have been coming across. And… no one ever brings it up, really. Too used to it, I suppose.”

Hien feels nice, but Ikael finds himself wishing for fur. Now where is Hien’s coat…?

“Do you remember when we were flying across the Steppes?” Hien asks as Ikael wonders whether or not to ask him to put his coat back on. Ikael nods, and reaches down to squeeze his cushion instead. He tugs it up a little so he can hold it easier, only noticing Hien’s strange pause when it ends.

“We were all freer back then, I think,” Hien muses, shaking his head slightly as if to dislodge his thoughts. “Me, trying to save my country. You, running around being lively and putting grass in Lyse’s hair. Although that might have just been a behavioural quirk.”

Ikael laughs at the reminder, surprised and short. Hien chuckles as well, and Ikael remembers to splay a hand to his chest curiously to feel the vibrations (He is fairly certain this is normal behaviour, since he does it with Thancred and he, of course, has never said anything. He does not know why Hien makes that odd pause again, however, but marks it off as being a Doman thing).

“What is your point, then?” he queries after Hien has not continued to speak. “Do you wish to go on vacation to the Steppes? Perhaps have Magnai stomp you underneath his boot as he raves on about hiding from the Sun’s radiance?”

Hien snorts at that, although he quickly composes himself. “Now, now. Brother Magnai’s customs and beliefs are to be respected in my house, although your opinion of the man himself may vary as you wish. …You cannot deny he has a certain charm.”

“Oh, he has a charm, alright,” Ikael agrees. “One to ward off evil spirits, lest they mistake him for one of their own.”

Hien’s laugh is less respectable, this time, and Ikael grins, even as he sends a silent apology to Magnai. He does not truly mind the man _that_ much. At times.

“My point,” Hien finally continues, “Is that I think we need some of that freedom, now and again. Even if it is for but a brief moment, find some time to run around. To be free from all of this.”

“’kay,” Ikael says. Hien exhales a chuckle.

Ikael is still folded up against Hien, and he sighs contently, wiggling around to get comfortable. From Hien’s subtle shifting, Ikael gets the feeling he is not entirely used to this. Ah—perhaps he does not have very many friends, then. Ikael gets that.

“Do you mind if I stay in the Enclave for tonight?” Ikael asks, and Hien breathes a small sigh of what could be relief.

“I was hoping you would ask, if I am being honest,” he says. “Yes—there is more than enough space, and you can have the room you stayed in last time.”

Ikael nods, considering this. “Thank you,” he says. They are friends now, however, so—“Can I sleep with you, though?” Ikael thinks he needs that comfort, tonight.

There is a palpable beat of silence, and then Ikael is flushing lightly, rolling his eyes. “I-I mean just sleep,” he mutters, “Since we are friends now. If you do not wish to, that is alright. I thought I would just ask.”

“‘ _Since we are friends now_ ,’” Hien repeats in an undertone, apparently to himself. Then he clears his throat. “Certainly, if you wish. I do not have any qualms about it.”

Ikael beams at him, then starts to straighten up, petting Hien’s hair in a gesture of goodwill. It is quite messy—Ikael will bring his comb so he can deal with it later.

“I will see you in a bell or two, yeah?” he says as he stretches. “Don’t eat the sweets all in one day—your stomach will ache! If I catch you doing it I shall be cross.”

He thinks he vaguely catches a few words in an Echo-shimmering mutter—something about not looking a gift chocobo in the mouth, no matter how strange it may be. He does not pay it much mind, however, deciding that if Hien wishes to talk to himself, he can.

“Goodnight, Hien,” he says softly right before he leaves the room, and Hien smiles at him.

“Goodnight, Ikael,” he replies.

~*~


End file.
